


Eight Days A Week

by often_adamanta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-26
Updated: 2007-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta'd by <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_violettefemme"><a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/"><b>violettefemme</b></a></span></p>
    </blockquote>





	Eight Days A Week

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/profile)[**violettefemme**](http://violettefemme.livejournal.com/)

“That’s IT!” Hermione screamed, startling the two arguing men into silence. They both turned to her in unison, one frowning and the other wearing a calm mask and pretending she hadn’t been able to startle him at all.

She stood, hands on hips, glowering at them. “I am sick and tired of your fighting! I would have thought that sometime in the past four years, you’d have been able to work through your petty schoolboy attitudes, but NO! All you ever do is snipe and insult each other, and I’ve had enough!”

And with that, she grabbed Ron, who shot them a sorry-but-there’s-nothing-I-can-do-you-know-how-she-can-be look as he was dragged from the room.

The front door squeaked open and slammed shut.

“She is the only one I know that can get away with that many exclamation points and not sound absolutely ridiculous,” Malfoy mused.

Harry sighed. “Yeah. Want another glass of wine?”

Malfoy sniffed and made a face at the dregs in his glass before holding it out. “Such as it is.”

Harry rolled his eyes and poured.

  
Day 1

“Hey, wake up.” Harry ignored the voice. His head hurt. “Wake up, you git! You need to lower the anti-Apparition ward so I can leave.”

Harry pulled a pillow over his head. What was Malfoy doing there? Oh, yeah, he’d fallen asleep on the couch last night a few hours after Hermione’s melodramatic exit. For all the various complaints about the substandard qualities of the wine, he’d sure drunk enough, and Harry had matched him glass for glass. With the 20/20 hindsight that only a hangover can provide, Harry decided that it had been a bad idea.

“Potter! I would like to leave sometime this century. Get up and take the ward down.”

Harry attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, but it was impossible. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes, and they were twisted around him and felt faintly sticky from sweat.

“OW!” he yelled, throwing himself into a sitting position as Malfoy pinched him on the arse, hard. “That hurt,” Harry complained, just a bit on the whiny side.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? It was that or a bucket of water. Did you want to get wet?”

“No,” Harry said, petulant, “but I didn’t want you to prove that you’re a literal pain in the arse, either.”

Malfoy smirked. “You have no idea.”

“What are you even doing up this early?” Harry asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Oh, the early bird gets the worm and all that.”

“That’s such a stupid saying. No one wants worms.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Potter. Birds want worms because they eat them.”

“I’m not a bird.”

“Really?” Malfoy acknowledged dryly. When Harry opened his mouth to retort, Malfoy added quickly, “If you’ll just lower the anti-Apparition ward like I’ve been asking you for ten minutes now, I’ll just be on my way and spare us both from further attempts at communication. I don’t know about you, but last night I received all the vitriol I need for quite some time.”

“I don’t have one,” Harry said, ignoring most of what the other man had said.

“One what?”

“Anti-Apparition ward. I don’t have one.”

Malfoy frowned. “Of course you do. We encountered it on the way in.”

“It’s unidirectional. Keeps people from Apparating in, not out.”

“I know what ‘unidirectional’ means, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “And you are quite mistaken because I would not be standing here if I was able to leave.”

Harry sighed and mentally reached for the wards surrounding his small house. He scowled when he realized that Malfoy was right. In fact, it felt like the entire set of wards had been recalibrated. He wondered if he’d done that last night when he was drunk but decided not. It wouldn’t be the first time, and the wards were never more effective after such an episode.

“Well?” Malfoy demanded.

“Yeah, you’re right. The whole thing’s recalibrated, and I don’t know how to lower it. Take me a couple hours, at least.” He layed back down and closed his eyes again, fully intent on going back to sleep, clothed or not. Moving to undress just wasn’t worth it. And Malfoy was still there.

Malfoy sputtered. “Hours? That’s not good enough, Potter. Just how am I supposed to leave?”

“Try the front door,” Harry suggested, too tired to make an insult out of it, and threw an arm over his eyes.  
\---  
“Potter! Wake up!”

Harry groaned. “What, again?”

“Yes, again. Here. I made tea.”

“What?” Harry repeated, disbelieving, but cracked an eye and saw that Malfoy was, indeed, holding a cup of tea sitting on a saucer (quite possibly the only one he owned). He sat up and took the cup. He looked at the tea, looked at Malfoy and then looked back at the tea. He took a tentative sniff.

“There is nothing wrong with it.”

He gave Malfoy a suspicious look.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “If I had wanted to poison you, I would have done so a long time ago, successfully.”

While not exactly a comforting thought, it did make sense. He took a sip and was surprised to taste a pain relief potion mixed in. The potion was very welcome, however, as the pounding behind his eyes lessened with every swallow.

“So. This is the end of the world, huh? I always thought there’d be more explosions.”

Malfoy was looking at him like he was crazy. “What on earth are you rambling about?”

Harry gestured to the teacup. “You’re being nice to me. I’m pretty sure it’s a sign of the apocalypse.”

“You’re insufferable,” Malfoy told him. “I am perfectly capable of being considerate and humane, even if I would not describe such behavior as nice. Perhaps the fact that you have never experienced this before has more to do with how you believe we should interact than the fact that I am unable of acting in this manner.”

Harry thought about that. “Weren’t you leaving?” he asked finally.

“Yes, I would very much like to, but your door won’t open.”

“Did you try turning the knob?”

“Potter, I know how to open a bloody door!”

“And yet, you’re still here.” Malfoy was glaring at him. “Alright, I’ll get up and look at it.”  
\---  
14 charms, 27 curses (only 12 of which were magical), and 10 minutes of attempted brute strength later, the door remained resolutely closed.

Harry gave up with curse number 28 and turned to Malfoy. “The door won’t open.”

Malfoy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘no shit’.

Harry ignored him and cast a revealing spell. “Huh.” That was unexpected. It almost looked like… He turned around and headed back to his room.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy called after him. “You’re not going back to sleep!”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Potter! You are not. Get me out of here first!”

“No,” Harry repeated without stopping, but he could hear Malfoy following him.

“No? There is no ‘no’. I said—”

BAM!

—Harry slammed his hand against the wall. Draco shut up and blinked at him but didn’t back off.

“I will take care of the bloody wards,” Harry all but growled, “but I won’t do it until I take a shower and change into clean clothes. I’m not going to be able to do anything if I’m concentrating on how gross I feel.”

Draco eyed him coldly, turned on heel and walked away.  
\---  
There was something very odd about the new wards that surrounded his house, mostly because they weren’t new wards at all. The old wards were essentially intact, but they were supplemented and integrated with another set. To mesh the wards so perfectly, it had to be someone who knew him, someone the wards accepted. If he understood the new system well enough, and he’d spent a long while exploring it, it wouldn’t let anyone in or out, wouldn’t allow any communications in or out, and would only open when the person who’d done the casting released them. It was a complicated version of the wards they’d used on the safe houses during the war.

All that narrowed down the number of people who could have done it, further evidence of what Harry had suspected since he began.

He drew away from the wards and back into his body. He sighed, and was promptly distracted by a wonderful smell emanating from the kitchen.

He found Malfoy at the table halfway through dinner, a plate waiting for him. He eyed it skeptically. “You can cook?” he asked, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

“Yes,” Malfoy said shortly, looking as if he wanted to add more but was containing himself.

Harry sat down and took a bite. Not bad, actually. He was surprised that Malfoy had found enough ingredients to make a cohesive meal. He tended to buy whatever struck his fancy at the store and decide how to put it together later. It made for some interesting combinations.

“Could have used a warming charm,” Harry mused aloud.

Malfoy scowled. “Oh, you’re welcome, _Potter_ ,” and he spat the name out like he used to do back in school, “Dinner was no problem at all.” Harry blinked at him, surprised at the venom in his tone. Malfoy’s scowl deepened. “What did you learn about the wards?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Oh. Well, we can’t get out.”

“Explain,” Malfoy demanded icily.

“The house is sealed up, Malfoy. Nothing in or out until they come down.”

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache was forming. “Then take them down so I can finally leave.”

“It’s not that—”

“More excuses? Are you that desperate to keep me here?”

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, your attitude—”

“My attitude!?” They were both standing now, leaning over the food to yell at each other. “If you would just—”

“This is not my fault!”

“Of course it is! If your wards hadn’t—”

“THEY’RE NOT MY WARDS!”

Silence for several heartbeats, both of them breathing heavily.

“What?”

“These wards aren’t mine. They basically took over my original ones and won’t respond to me. I could try to rip them down, but more than likely I’d bring the roof down and kill us both with the magical backlash.”

Draco paled, losing the faint flush he’d gained during their fight. “Who?” he asked, and Harry could see the old fear of being trapped, being in an unsecured location without any control. Draco had been capture once, near the end. As far as Harry knew, no one but Kingsley knew what had happened.

“Hermione.” There was a small chance that he was wrong, but it was very, very small, and in his gut, he knew he was right.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Harry snorted. He doubted she’d get more than a nosebleed. “If you really want to leave, why don’t you examine the wards. You’re her friend; you work with her. You might have better luck than me.”

Malfoy glared icily at him for a few seconds before leaving the room.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

  
Day 2

“You have the worst collection of books I’ve ever seen.” Malfoy didn’t even sound insulting, merely incredulous, which ticked off Harry even more.

In an effort to prevent fighting, Harry was trying very, very hard to ignore Malfoy.

“I bet that Hagrid, illiterate oaf that he is, has a more extensive and intellectual selection.”

Malfoy was making it very, very hard to do so.

“And you don’t even have the most basic potions set, Potter.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yes, yes, I know you were horrible at potions, but still. Everyone should have at least the basics. In case of emergency.”

“The only emergency would be if someone actually took my potions.” For a moment, Harry could have sworn that Malfoy smiled. He blinked. Surely not. Malfoy was nothing but unpleasant around him.

“I’m going to kill Hermione,” Draco announced suddenly.

“You are not.”

“I am! And if I’m stuck in this house much longer, I’ll be able to plead temporary insanity. Truthfully, no less.”

“You’re certainly making me crazy.”

“I do not understand you at all. If you detest me this much, why on earth did you invite me to dinner?”

“Malfoy, I didn’t invite you to dinner. Hermione invited you to dinner. She told me she was bringing a friend from work.”

Malfoy stared at him, looking a bit horrified. “I specifically asked if it was…” he trailed off. “I very much apologize,” Malfoy said stiffly. “I would not have come if I had known.”

Harry waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like she hasn’t done it to you, too.”

“She has? When?”

“That party you had, what was it, two months ago? I thought you were going to hex me when we showed up.”

Malfoy scowled. “A host never hexes his guests. And Hermione didn’t lie to me. She told me that she was bringing you. I just honestly didn’t believe you’d come and was surprised.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t care that she was bringing me?”

“I didn’t believe you’d come,” he repeated sharply.

“Right. Well, once again, she lied. Just a little get together with a friend from work.”

“Wait, you fell for the exact same line twice? How daft can you get?”

“Well, it never occurred to me that she’d try again after the first one was so horrible,” Harry defended himself, annoyed.

“It was awful, wasn’t it? You just can’t keep your opinions to yourself, can you?”

“Me? You were making fun of me all night, you arrogant prat!”

“I did not. I was graciousness itself.”

Harry snorted. “Please. You were sarcasm itself. ‘Great Hero’ this and ‘Boy Who Wouldn’t Die’ that, and I caught that cupboard reference, which was lower than I’d expected, even from you.”

“Cupboard reference? The one Smith went into and ended up in Switzerland?” Malfoy looked genuinely confused, which didn’t mean anything, Harry reminded himself. Malfoy had proven he could lie, and do it well, even if Harry could normally tell he was doing it. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Nothing,” Harry snapped, determined that they weren’t going to get into that. Malfoy was the last person he’d talk about that with.

God, Harry wanted a drink, but then remembered the hangover from hell he’d had yesterday. Malfoy or not, he wasn’t drinking again for at least a month.

Malfoy was examining him as if he was a particularly grotesque bug. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“You never did,” Harry said coldly. “You never even tried. You always thought you knew everything, but you didn’t know a thing about me.”

He looked at Malfoy, who was wearing the rigid mask that Harry had so loved to shatter when they were still at school. Now, however, Harry just didn’t care.

“Likewise, Potter.” His voice held a bitterness deep enough to surprise Harry. “Likewise.” He stood and went into the kitchen, and Harry heard the quiet clanks of tea making.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

  
Day 3

Yesterday, Harry had been sure that Malfoy would not be able to leave him alone if his life had depended on it. Today, he was almost ready to beg for a complaint or insult or both.

They’d been staring at each other in a general, glaring fashion for quite a while, there being little else to do, but now they were locked in a real staring contest. It felt like twenty minutes since he’d last blinked, and his eyes were starting to itch, but it was probably more like twenty seconds.

Malfoy blinked.

“You blinked,” Harry said.

Malfoy didn’t look impressed at this conversational imposition on the silence. “Yes. I did. Excellent powers of observation.”

“You’re not supposed to blink,” Harry explained. That was pretty much the entire rulebook for the game, in fact.

“Everyone blinks, Potter. It’s necessary for eye moisture and vision and all that. I’ve blinked my entire life and have no intention of stopping now.”

Silence descended again. It was, if at all possible, worse than before.

Harry really hoped that Hermione was going to let them out soon.  
\---  
“Potter.”

Harry finished pulling his pajama shirt over his head before looking at Malfoy standing in the doorway to his room. He was surprised: Malfoy hadn’t come in here since that first day, and they’d been not speaking for hours now. “Yeah?” He had to admit, even if this was just another fight, he was relieved. Harry wasn’t used to Draco ignoring him.

“I was wondering,” he began stiffly, tension in every line of his body, “if I could get some pajamas. I’d like to shower and change and not sleep in my clothes again.”

“Oh, um, yes. Of course.” He could tell how much it had taken Malfoy to come ask him for anything and felt guilty that he hadn’t thought to offer sooner. Even if it was Malfoy, the least Harry should have done was offer a shower and something to sleep in.

He found a pair of his better pajama pants, one of the longer pairs that might fit Malfoy better, and a clean white t-shirt and handed them over.

“The towels are in the hall closet,” Harry told him, even though he was sure that Malfoy knew that. “I’m sorry. I should have offered.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said. “Thank you,” and walked away leaving Harry somewhat bemused and still guilty.

The shower started.

Harry sighed and crawled into bed.

  
Day 4

“Wow, Malfoy… you look like shit.”

“Nothing escapes you, Potter,” he retorted, but it held no bite, as if he was too tired to even be insulting. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his head was propped up on his arm. He was back in his clothes, but they were extremely rumpled. The effect was very far from his normally flawless appearance.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, then added quickly, “Besides the obvious.” The last thing he needed was another rant on how they were stuck in here.

“Like you care.”

“Well, I asked, didn’t I?”

“It’s your fault, you know.”

“Of course it is.” As Malfoy had expounded at length the first couple of days, everything was his fault.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malfoy snapped halfheartedly.

“Nothing,” Harry sighed, giving up. It wasn’t fun arguing with Malfoy like this. Instead of a fair verbal fight, it was like kicking a man when he was down. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Malfoy stared at the table and kept silent.

“Tell me or I’ll make sure Hermione knows it was you who put that hair remover in her shampoo that time.”

“I did not!” Malfoy exclaimed, his head jerking up to glare.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but she’ll probably put you in St. Mungo’s before you can convince her of that.”

Malfoy was looking at him with a mix of respect and disgust. Mostly disgust, though. “Fine,” he huffed. “Since you simply must know, you own the most uncomfortable couch in the history of couches. I don’t think I’ve slept more than an hour since I’ve been here. I finally gave up and slept on the floor last night, which was considerably more comfortable.”

Harry thought about it and did recall, vaguely, falling asleep there once and having the worst night ever, but he honestly hadn’t even considered it. He felt guilty again, remembering how he hadn’t even offered Malfoy a change of clothes, but this was different.

“Why didn’t you just transfigure it into a bed?” Malfoy shot him an annoyed look, but Harry pressed on. “That’s what I figured you were doing. You’re always up before me.” Malfoy didn’t answer, his gaze back on the table. “Malfoy, really, why—”

“Just leave it, Potter,” Malfoy snapped suddenly.

“I just don’t understand—”

“I didn’t because I can’t,” Malfoy ground out, then immediately looked angry with himself. He stood and left the room as if the conversation was over.

“You can’t?” Harry asked, following him, curiosity keeping him asking even though it was obviously a touchy subject. “Why not?”

“None of your business, Potter.” They were standing in the living room, now, and Malfoy’s arms were crossed defensively. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to continue running, but there was nowhere else to go.

“The ministry didn’t forbid you from doing magic, did they?” Harry asked, horrified at the thought.

“No, Potter, you imbecile,” Malfoy sneered, “I work for the Ministry. If they trusted me that little, there’s no way they’d have hired me.”

Harry sighed in relief. “Then what’s the problem?”

“As I already explained, it’s none of your business.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Why are you acting like you care?”

Harry frowned. “I’m not acting. And I wouldn’t say I care, exactly, although you are worrying me a little.”

“Oh, well, so sorry to—”

“Malfoy!” Harry yelled. He pleaded into the silence that followed, “Just tell me. Please.”

Malfoy stood still and tense for a moment, as if trying to find control, or perhaps just stalling. Finally, he spoke, so softly that Harry had to strain to hear. “I can’t do magic.”

“ _What_?”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

“Yes. I mean. No. I heard, I just— _What_?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, obviously trying to act normally, but it came out a weak copy of his customary performance. “Eloquent as usual, Potter.” His voice was shaking.

Harry swallowed. “You can’t do magic? At all?”

“I can’t do any magic that requires a wand.” Malfoy smiled bitterly at Harry’s horrified expression.

“How?” Harry asked quietly.

“My father had gotten into the deep end of Dark Magic by the end. Blood Magic. It’s how he captured me.” Malfoy laughed, a twisted sound. “I tried so hard to deny him, but in the end, I couldn’t change who I was. Even now, I am his son. He made sure that I could never forget it.

“After the usual prisoner and torture routine, when I still refused to give in, he bound my magic. I’d no idea what he was doing, of course, but when it was over, he gave me my wand. It…” Malfoy shuddered. “It was quite painful. Wands react violently with the binding.”

“Can’t they… undo it?”

“No.” Malfoy answered shortly. “Blood magic can only be undone with blood magic. I would need a close relative to even attempt it. And I am the only one left.”

Now that, Harry understood. He reached out, unsure about offering comfort, and let his fingertips brush against Malfoy’s forearm.

Malfoy jerked back violently, coming out of his thoughts to glare. “I don’t need your pity!”

Harry stared back calmly. “It wasn’t pity. I was just trying to be considerate and humane.”

That seemed to break the fight in Malfoy, and he just stood there looking at Harry in confusion, arms wrapped around himself, shaking slightly.

“Why don’t you go take a nap in my bed?” Harry offered. “You look like you could use it.”

Malfoy studied Harry for a minute, but then nodded sharply and retreated into Harry’s bedroom. Harry thought he was probably just trying to get out of more questions, but didn’t much care.  
\---  
It was night again, and Malfoy hadn’t woken up yet. Harry checked on him a couple of times but wasn’t too concerned. He needed to catch up on his sleep.

Harry thought, in the quiet broken only by their breathing, but it was harder than Harry had expected to accept what Malfoy had told him. Not that he didn’t believe it, because he did. The pain in Malfoy’s voice as he explained had been only too real. It was more that Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy without magic. Malfoy had been one of the first wizards he’d ever met, and had been irrevocably tied into Harry’s view of what magic was, even if it had been the less friendly side of that definition.

He watched Malfoy sleep from the doorway, the light from the open door falling across his shoulders and illuminating his face, and he didn’t look menacing or stuck-up or hateful. His face was relaxed, and his mouth hung open the slightest bit, and he was moving gently to the even rhythm of his breathing. He looked asleep.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, voice rough, eyes cracking open.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. He hadn’t meant to wake him.

Malfoy shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep on that couch either, remember.” Malfoy shifted until he was at the far edge of Harry’s bed. “Either come or go. The light’s bothering me.”

Harry was surprised at what was, from Malfoy, practically an invitation, but he also understood. He didn’t particularly feel like being alone, either, and Harry’s bed was certainly big enough for both of them. He shut the door behind him, changed into pajamas in the dark, and climbed into sheets warm from Malfoy’s body.

He fell asleep quicker than he expected, highly aware of Malfoy on the other side of the bed and the large gap between them.

  
Day 5

He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him, his life being what it was, but he was once again doing something he’d never believed possible. He was trying to treat Malfoy with respect.

Harry knew Malfoy wouldn’t want to be questioned further, and they couldn’t seem to talk without fighting, so Harry was keeping to himself. He was also trying not to stare at Malfoy. He hated it when people stared at him, so it seemed the thing to do. That particular task was much harder than Harry’d anticipated.

He wished without much hope that Hermione would let them out sooner rather than later, because he was feeling decidedly awkward about the whole thing.  
\---  
“Could you please pass the salt?” Harry asked without looking up from his plate. The awkwardness of the situation was spiraling out of control, and Harry wasn’t sure what to do.

Malfoy passed it without comment.

Harry risked a glance and was pinned down by an intense gaze of Malfoy’s pale eyes. He quickly averted his eyes and took a bite of his chicken.

“If Hermione doesn’t let us out soon, we’re going to run out of food,” Malfoy informed him in a conversational tone. He’d been cooking most of the meals, which was surprising and rather nice. Very few people had ever cooked for Harry. “I’m surprised you had this much food,” Malfoy continued, “considering your attempts to take the bachelor lifestyle to the extreme.”

Harry gave him a small grin and took another bite. “I had just gone to the store to get stuff for dinner.”

“Oh, yes,” Malfoy said, as if he’d forgotten how this entire incident had begun.

“Hermione won’t let us starve,” Harry added with complete confidence. Hermione wouldn’t make a miscalculation like that. He swallowed the last of his peas and began to clean off the table, once again avoiding Malfoy.

WHAM!

Harry jumped and looked up startled, dropping the plate he’d picked up back onto the table.

Malfoy had slammed his hand down on the table. He looked livid. “Will you just say something already?” he sneered.

Harry stared. “What are you talking about?”

“You!” Malfoy choked out. “I’m talking about you! I tell you yesterday that I can’t do magic and today you won’t even so much as look at me. What the fuck is your problem?”

“Malfoy, calm down, it’s—”

“I will _not_ calm down. Screw you, Potter!” Malfoy had worked himself up until he was screaming out the words. “You’ve always made it perfectly clear that you felt I was beneath you, but now I’m even beneath your notice? I’d never have expected the Chosen One to be such a prejudiced prick.” Harry’s mouth was hanging open, caught completely off guard by the tirade. “Tell me, is your impassioned defense of all things Muggle an act? Because they don’t have magic, either, and that seems to be a trait you can’t stand!”

“No, that’s not it. I was just trying to—”

“You’re ignoring me, Potter! I _hate_ it when you ignore me. And you do it all the time. It’s easy to rationalize at those infrequent social functions you attend, but right now I am the only person here, and you’re still doing it! It might be considered masochistic to ask, but why do you still hate me so much? WHY?”

Their harsh breathing was loud in the resulting silence as Malfoy cut off his screams.

“Listen, Malfoy, please. I’m sorry. I’ve given you the wrong impression.” Harry took a deep breath. “I was just trying to be respectful, and I guess I screwed it up.” Harry frowned. “Big surprise, really. It’s just that I always hated it when people stared at me, and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and—” Harry cut himself off and paused before continuing. “I don’t hate you because you don’t have magic, Malfoy. I really don’t.”

Malfoy snorted. “You hate me for other reasons.” He sounded resigned.

Harry hardly heard him, though, as his brain caught up with the things that Malfoy had screamed at him, and there was something wrong, something that just didn’t make sense. “Malfoy,” Harry said slowly, “Why do you care if I ignore you?”

He stiffened at the unexpected question. “I don’t,” he snapped defensively.

“You said you hate it,” Harry pointed out. “You think I do it all the time, and you notice, and it _bothers_ you. Why?”

The laugh Malfoy gave was so bitter and despairing and unexpected that Harry took a step back before he realized it. “Why do you think, Harry?”

Malfoy shook his head as if to clear it and left the kitchen, shutting himself in Harry’s room.

Harry could force the issue. It wasn’t like Malfoy could cast a locking charm. But giving Malfoy some space seemed the smart thing to do at the moment, and besides, he’d probably just make it worse. He cleaned the dishes and settled down on the couch in preparation for a long night.

  
Day 6

Harry was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, when Malfoy emerged from the bedroom that morning. He’d obviously gone through Harry’s clothes and found something clean that mostly fit. He eyed Harry warily as he paused in the doorway. “You look like I felt after not sleeping on that couch,” he commented finally.

Harry shrugged.

“You actually could have transfigured the couch, you know.”

Harry just stared at him.

Malfoy sighed. “I’ll make tea,” he offered, moving past Harry into the kitchen.

Rubbing his eyes to dispel exhaustion, Harry stood and followed him. Malfoy acted as if he wanted to pretend the argument last night hadn’t happened, and Harry could play along with that. For now.  
\---  
Today, Harry didn’t try to treat Malfoy in any special way, which meant that he could stare all he wanted. It had been considerably more difficult than he’d expected to not look at Malfoy yesterday. He didn’t know what that meant.

Malfoy collapsed into the chair across from him, and Harry noticed how even that careless motion was graceful when executed by the other man.

“You don’t have any parchment or quills. Not even that Muggle paper Hermione prefers to scribble on.”

“Oh,” Harry said, taken aback by the observation. “No, probably not. I think I ran out a while ago.”

He shifted under Malfoy’s scrutiny. “How do you write letters? Or anything else for that matter?”

“I don’t write many letters,” Harry admitted. “I’d probably just write to Ron and Hermione, and I see them several times a week, so there’s no point really.”

“What is it you do, anyway?” Malfoy questioned. “Hermione is always so vague on the details of what you do with your time.”

“I don’t do anything interesting,” Harry answered, evading the question.

Malfoy snorted in amusement. “I can believe that.”

Harry gave him a weak glare, too tired to put much into it, and then turned the tables on Malfoy. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you work with Hermione if you can’t do magic?”

He received a long, searching gaze, but when he met and held it, Malfoy responded. “I can do some magic, just not anything that requires a wand. Luckily, I learned to Apparate wandlessly at the beginning of the war. Arithmancy doesn’t require a lot of spells like other disciplines, and I work on a team where others do that part. Hermione and I focus on the theory.”

He trailed off, and Harry was astounded by how civil and pleasant this whole conversation was turning out. It was almost… nice. “What about potions? You seemed to really like it, and there isn’t much wand waving involved in that.”

Malfoy frowned. “The more complex potions, the ones beyond the skills of the general populace that a Potion Master must be able to brew, often do use charms. And it’s exceedingly common in the development of new potions, as well. I could have worked with potions, but I’d be making only the simple, easy ones that others could handle.” Harry had to wonder how true that was. Their opinions of ‘simple’ and ‘easy’ were vastly different when it came to potions. “It’d be too much of a reminder of what I couldn’t do.”

Harry nodded and watched as Malfoy relaxed back into the chair and closed his eyes.

“What did you think you’d be doing now, back when we were in school?”

“You mean if I survived that long?” Harry asked sarcastically. Malfoy made a mild sound of agreement and didn’t open his eyes. “I wanted to be an Auror.”

“So what changed?”

“After the war, I was tired of fighting. I was just… tired.” The weight of Malfoy’s gaze was back on him, and he got up, moving away and toward the kitchen. “I’ll go start dinner.”  
\---  
“Oh,” Malfoy breathed as they bumped into each other in the doorway. Harry watched the expression on Malfoy’s face stay decidedly neutral in the poor light from the bathroom behind him.

Harry couldn’t remember the last time they’d been this close to each other. They’d probably been trying to beat each others’ faces in. He could see a faint indentation on the left side of Malfoy’s mouth, no doubt a result from years of his lips curling in a sneer.

His eyes flicked up to find Malfoy equally enthralled, his eyes on Harry’s own mouth.

Refusing to give it too much thought, Harry leaned in close and pressed his lips against the corner of Malfoy’s lips and that indentation. He pulled back after a second to find Malfoy’s eyes closed. They opened as he stared, catching his eyes. Harry dropped his gaze back down to Malfoy’s lips, deciding he wanted to feel them again.

He started to move forward, but got no further as Malfoy suddenly took a step back.

His face was pinched and tense, and Harry couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. “I told you. I don’t want your pity.” He turned and disappeared into Harry’s bedroom, running away.

Harry was getting pretty sick of him doing that.

  
Day 7

Harry sat quietly on his bed, legs folded so that his chin rested on one knee.

He’d never have expected it, but he really liked watching Draco Malfoy sleep. He was completely relaxed and sprawled out on the mattress. His hair was spread on the pillow, a pale blond halo. He liked that Malfoy couldn’t control the way he looked and that he could watch without Malfoy watching back.

Malfoy stirred and lazily opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear them as he tilted his head and saw Harry in the gentle glow from a dispersed _lumos_. He sat up, the mattress dimpling where his hand pressed against it.

“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked.

“It’s my bed,” Harry pointed out, grinning. Malfoy tilted his head as if confused. “What?”

“I hardly ever see you smile anymore,” Malfoy said, and Harry’s grin faded.

“That’s because I don’t,” Harry admitted. “Smile much, I mean.” He looked away at the flex of Malfoy’s wrist against the sheet. “I haven’t been very well since the war.

“You asked me what I did, but the truth is, other than you being here, this has been a pretty typical week. I stay here, and I sleep and lay around.” Harry shrugged. “I store up energy to fool Hermione during the nights she drags me out with her and Ron. She thinks I spend my time volunteering at an organization that’s helping people rebuild their homes, but I just give them money. She misunderstood when I said I was helping, and it was easier to let her believe what she wanted.”

Harry’s eyes flicked up as far as Malfoy’s throat, but he was too afraid to look any higher, afraid of what he’d find. “I just feel tired all the time, no matter how much I sleep. And sometimes, I go for days without sleep because of the nightmares…” Harry’s jaw clenched, and he forced himself to relax.

“I just tend to avoid people as much as possible. Most people, anyway. The funny thing about you thinking that I’ve been ignoring you is that I’ve been trying so hard to do just that. Trying, and failing.” Malfoy shifted, but Harry still refused to look at him. “No matter how numb I feel, I always notice you. When you walk into a room, I have to look, and when you say something, I have to respond. You make me feel again. Even if it’s just irritation,” Harry laughed in bitter amusement, “you make me _feel_.”

Malfoy wiped his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, and it came away wet with tears. Harry hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He finally looked up and found Malfoy’s face calm with something he was far too tempted to read as concern and understanding.

“I didn’t kiss you because I pity you,” Harry told him. He needed Malfoy to believe this, even if he didn’t accept anything else. “I don’t pity you at all. You’re doing so great, magic or not, and I’m falling apart…” A sob broke free from where Harry had been ruthlessly suppressing it, and his throat closed, making talking impossible.

Warm arms wrapped around him, and Malfoy cradled him against his chest as he cried, whispering sounds of comfort. His hands fisted in the shirt Malfoy was wearing, holding tight to the other man, afraid he would slip away like the good things in Harry’s life had a way of doing. He’d dreamt so often in his childhood of being held just like this that he was afraid he was going to wake up alone in his bed.

Malfoy didn’t disappear, though. He remained as solid and contrary as he’d always been. He let Harry cry himself out until his tears ran out and his throat was sore and his whole body ached with the release of all the pain he’d been carrying for years.

“Harry,” Malfoy said as he calmed, “You need to _nox_ the light.” Harry fished in the blanket until he found his wand and extinguished the light. “It’s too early to be morning,” Malfoy said, and drew them down into the sheets with Harry still in his arms. He kissed each of Harry’s swollen eyes, and whispered, “Sleep.”  
\---  
It was early afternoon when Harry woke. He’d gotten good at telling time based on the amount of light filtering in through the thick curtains of his bedroom. He could feel the warmth of Malfoy’s body next to his, but he still needed to open his eyes and check that he wasn’t dreaming, that Malfoy had remained with him through the night. Grey eyes met his, awake and studying him in the dim light.

“Watching me sleep?” Harry asked, amused.

“Well, you’ve done so to me twice now. I was trying to find the appeal.”

Harry raised his arms above his head and stretched, back popping as it arched. “And?”

“And I suppose you’re slightly attractive like that, all vulnerable and unconscious.”

Harry shifted closer until their bodies were pressed together, and he could feel how attractive Malfoy thought he was. “Slightly attractive?” he questioned doubtfully as Draco’s erection poked his hip.

“Slightly,” Draco affirmed. “I find I much prefer you awake.”

Harry turned so that they were facing each other. “If I kiss you, you’re not going to think I pity you again, are you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “No. I might decide that you want me, however.”

Harry’s arm slipped around Malfoy’s waist, and their cocks rubbed against each other through their pajama pants. “You’d be right,” Harry breathed against Malfoy’s lips, and then closed the small gap to kiss him, their lips touching and then moving easily together.

Draco’s hand found its way from Harry’s shoulder to their groins, gripping their cocks in his hand. His mouth opened, and Harry responded by automatically deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into Malfoy’s mouth to taste him and push past his teeth to rub their tongues together.

Malfoy’s hand had left their erections and moved on to Harry’s pajamas, pulling them down until he was naked above mid thigh. Harry hadn’t even noticed until Draco’s hand closed around the sensitive skin of his cock. His exclamation was swallowed by Malfoy, who took advantage the surprise to turn the tables on him and push his way into Harry’s mouth for his own taste.

Harry used the arm around Draco’s waist to push his pajamas down, until there was nothing but skin between them. They were kissing deep, their hands wrapped around the others cock, legs tangled up together in half discarded pajamas.

It was the best Harry’d ever felt.

Malfoy’s hand had just the right rhythm, and Harry knew he was seconds from coming, overwhelmed from Draco’s body pressed against his, lips to ankles. He squeezed Malfoy’s cock a little tighter, wanting to make him come too, and Malfoy twisted his fingers over the head of Harry’s erection in retaliation, and Harry came, pulsing into Malfoy’s hand. He broke away from the kiss to draw in a deeper breath than he could get through his nose, but Malfoy followed him, tongue reaching deeper into his mouth. Harry used his come to make the strokes on Malfoy’s cock slick, and then Malfoy came as well, making a desperate noise in his throat.

They continued kissing, gentler now, and Harry ran his fingers along Draco’s cock as it softened, liking how it felt.

“Stop that,” Malfoy finally broke the kiss to gasp out, smiling when Harry made a noise of displeasure, but insisted. “It’s too much.”

Harry found his wand on the edge of the bed behind him and cleaned up the mess, and they both pulled their clothes the rest of the way off and threw them on the floor, curling up together naked.

“Maybe we should get up,” Draco suggested after a while.

“I don’t want to,” Harry whined, shifting his arm tighter around Draco to prevent such a move.

“Well, it’s not like we have anything else to do,” Malfoy agreed, fingers combing through Harry’s hair.

  
Day 8

Harry was stretched out on the couch, head in Malfoy’s lap. Draco had managed to find a halfway decent book buried in the bottom of Harry’s closet and was alternating between reading and talking to Harry.

“You know we’re going to have to talk to someone about how you’ve been feeling, don’t you?” Malfoy had asked after a longish pause, book dipping as his attention focused on Harry, who frowned. “What you’ve been doing isn’t healthy. And don’t you want to feel better?”

“You make me feel better,” Harry had tried, earning him a smile.

“We’ll talk to Professor McGonagall and get the name of someone she trusts. Maybe someone who was affiliated with the Order. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“Yes,” Harry had admitted, and they had both let it drop for the moment.

A knock on the front door reverberated throughout the room, loud after days of isolation.

“Um…” Harry glanced up at Draco, but didn’t move away from him as he called out, “Come in!”

The door opened, and Hermione walked briskly through the door, Ron following close behind.

“You are a dead woman,” Draco announced icily, snapping his book closed.

“I can’t imagine why,” Hermione replied, smirking as her eyes flicked over their positions.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and stood. “Dead,” he repeated, before advancing.

Harry and Ron quickly cleared the battlefield, moving to stand together on the other side of the room.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked, looking Harry over for any wounds.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, fine. Better than, actually.” Draco threw something that broke with a loud smashing noise against the wall, but Harry ignored him. It wasn’t like he owned anything that valuable.

“So, you and Malfoy, then?” Ron asked, the tips of his ears turning a bit red.

“Yeah.”

Ron nodded, decidedly less… hostile than Harry had expected.

“You’re taking this very well.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron sighed. “Hermione’s been trying to get you two together for months, so I’ve had some time to get used to the idea. And Malfoy’s around a lot now, anyway, and he’s not that bad.” Ron grimaced. “If you tell him I said that, though, I’ll deny every word.”

Harry laughed and shook his head before sobering. “We were running out of food, you know.”

“Yeah,” Ron said sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It’s what finally convinced her to let you out, though. I almost had her convinced a few days ago, but Mum found out what she’d done and told Hermione that she had to let you out. You know Hermione,” Ron rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell her she’s not right about something. Anyway, I’m really sorry.”

“Well,” Harry said, turning to look at his red-faced lover screaming at his best friend, who was listening calmly, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, “I suppose it turned out for the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at livejournal [here](http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/167350.html).


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